Smeared Ink on Faded Pages
by Shenaniganary
Summary: A Series of Alternate History/Ending  AU  drabbles too small to be their own stories but large enough to warrant individual chapters. Updated whenever another is written. Most/None will not have any connection to any of the others.
1. Equals

**These stories are a series of drabbles. Most if not all of them are or will be written as a response to art I see on tumblr. Most will not be continued beyond this point.**

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><p><strong>Equals<strong>

The young Jöten crouches on the luminescent marble floor, a soft gray blot in an otherwise perfect hall. He is not much to look at; pale, thin, and covered by only a rust-red cape clutched tightly to his breast. This one looks ready to topple over before Thor would even have a chance to do the job himself.

But it is those eyes, those brilliantly crimson eyes, luminescent yet dark with something _other_, foreign and ancient and _alive_, which stays his hand. _This one_ is different. He knows it, can sense it as one true predator to another can. _This one,_of all, can be his equal.

The thrill of it sends a chill down his spine.

He steps forward, crossing the hall to stand before the other boy. His heart pounds, anticipation and the thrill of the _game_ making his palms twitch for a blade, for a _fight,_ but he does not strike. Won't strike. Not when he finally has _this_.

This young boy who watches him with his strange crimson eyes, who catalogs and calculates each of his movements before making any of his own, says nothing at his approach. He has been bound by the most powerful sorcerers of Asgard; his magic stripped away, his body broken through battle and the price of _war_. He cannot hurt Thor, not now as he sits just beyond the young Aesir's reach. But as he stares into those foreign, baleful eyes, he _knows_ what this boy is capable of.

For the first time in his life, Thor truly feels the first tendrils of true fear.

It is a heady, intoxicating brew.

He leans forward, unable to help himself. Fear sparks along his nerves, setting his mind alight with thoughts of battle and blood. This one will give him a fight. This one will give him what he needs, what he craves with all his being. Thor is a simple creature; passion and desire and _fire_ in his veins and his soul. He loves war with all of himself, craves the taste of conquest in his heart and spattered across his skin.

This one is no different; he can see it in his eyes. He is calm and dark and _ice_, but they are same at the core. This one craves victory, craves blood and the fight and the _thrill_. He will fight Thor through every step. He will parry and block and _move_. He will not yield, nor bend nor _retreat_. This one is Thor's equal, his enemy, his _brother_. This one is the same.

And this boy knows it too.

"You intend to keep me as a slave?" He asks, soft and gentle, though his eyes fall to the Aesir's throat. His tone is coaxing, questioning, as if he truly does not know. Thor can only smile; a narrow, blade-like thing.

"I intend to keep you as a brother."

The boy's eyes flick upward, crimson eyes arresting his own. There is no nod of understanding; no spoken words. They are brothers already, in spirit and soul. This is nothing new.

"But you keep me nevertheless."

The boy's tone is chiding; they both know what will happen. Neither will suffer the other to live. Neither can survive without it.

Thor's smile only widens, predatory and dark, "What else is there to do?"


	2. Crimson

"Really, Thor," Murmurs his green-eyed brother as he strides across the room, draped only in russet fur, "Crimson does __not__ suit me."

Thor watches his brother with dark sky eyes, pupils blown wide. Loki is still covered in dark, blooming marks, stark and lovingly present against his pale, alabaster skin. A flush still stains the column of his throat; lingers down his thin chest. His gait, though prim and elegantly proper as always, is still stiff, belying what occurred only moments before.

Thor licks his lips, and meets his brother's gaze.

"I beg to differ, brother," He answers easily, inclining his head toward the bed. Theirs now, if he has any say. The evening is still young and their battles so far away. They shall be enemies once more soon enough, let them enjoy the fleeting peace for what it is, "Shall I prove it to you once more?"

Loki only smirks, and lets the cape fall.


End file.
